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fectly astounding. An iron gun, eleven feet 'em was, but they was all bought up long, and weighing 113 cwt., seemed nothing by a specklater from Ballyklava.' unto them. They volunteered to fist it “So they're all gone? along, and they literally did so, tying ropes

All, your honor. But (with his to it, and dragging it by their force over the hills. I have seen fourteen horses, and all

face brightening up suddenly) if you the apparatus of artillery, barely moving a

should happen to want a sporting outgun which fifty sailors have dragged after

and-out dromeydairy, I've got one, as I them at a trot."

can let you have cheap!'

“And as he spoke, Jack pointed, in In one respect, Our Jack became great triumph, to the melancholy-lookso altered by his campaign in the Cri- ing quadruped, which he had moored mea, that his oldest friends would

stem and stern, as he expressed it, to hardly recognise him at first sight.

the ground, and was much disappointed His personal appearance is thus de

when be found there was no chance of scribed in a letter, dated last Febru

a sale in that line."

Well, well, there never was a diaary :

mond without some flaw, and as con“Our men-o'-war's-men have huge flow

cerns Our Jack's alleged peccadilloes, ing beards and moustaches, [shade of Ben

we are sure that he commits them as bow! think of Our Jack with a beard like a

much for the “ fun of the thing," as for Jew or Mahometan !) great-coats, made of any other motive, and probably, also, cow-hide, and trousers of buffalo skins; re

he really has but a foggy notion of what sembling, in fact, great bears, with nothing constitutes a lawful prize on the field to remind you of our blue-jackets, but their of war. And rely upon it, that many bold, rollicking, defiant spirit, which four a strayed steed would have been irrelong months in the trenches have not been coverably lost to the service had not able to subdue."

our thoughful Jack benevolently taken

it under his protection. As impartial inquirers into the be- Reviewing Our Jack's campaign in haviour of Our Jack in the Crimea, the Black Sea and Crimea, from first we must not shrink from an allusion to to last, we find that he has endured a somewhat delicate matter in con- protracted, and almost unparalleled, nexion with his life in camp. Divers hardships without murmur; he has been credible witnesses roundly assert, that exposed to perils by sea anıl by land, he has manifested a very characteristic to deadly disease, and to many other indifference to, or insensibility regard dangers and tribulations which would ing, the laws of meum and tuum. For have daunted any 'spirit but his own. example, he is accused of manifesting He has repeatedly received the warm such a partiality to quadrupeds, that thanks of the Commander-in-Chief of he appropriates all he finds unguarded. the army for his assistance; and his own “Whenever," says one writer, “an Admiral has thanked bim for his “good officer loses his horse, he sends over to conduct and gallantry.” On the whole, the sailors' camp for it, and there he is therefore, we have no reason to suptolerably sure to find it.”

pose that Our Jack has, in any respect, Another authority asserts, that Our degenerated ; but on the contrary, we Jack will accommodate any party with think he has proved himself every way a steed, for a consideration. A droll worthy of his name and fame. And story is told of a young officer who taking him all in all, notwithstanding went to the sailors' camp to purchase his little foibles and eccentricities, is a horse. He made his want known, he not a most noble fellow ? Ay, that and Our Jack thereupon thoughtfully he is; and every true British heart will turned his quid, and said

ever warm towards bim, and be proud "Ah! how I does wish your honor of him, for what would become of the had a comed up yesterday. We had British empire itself were it not for five reg'lar good'uns-Harabs soine on OUR Jack ?

was scarce

THE OLD HOUSE OF DARKBROTHERS.-PART II. Tae kind reader will come back with camped amidst the rank grass under me to the period at which our narrative the shadow of an old wood, which ran originally set out, and to the consider- all round the ruin, and within a bus. ation of some of the other characters I dred yards of the house. Nor va had the pleasure of then introducing this all. One of the women, the same to his notice in the Red Lane, and who had spoken rudely to Grace, “under the greenwood tree" of bonnie extremely ill, and the weather being Earlsdale. And first I must record, sultry, they had made her bed up a that between the O'Donel family and the open air, and a hideous and ghastly Miss Beaufoy, I grieve to say, there object she presented, lying in full vien

an acquaintance. The of all who passed up and down to the present vicars mode of managing his house of Darkbrothers. At such u parish, and his success therein, was outrage on her privacy and her provinegar - and - gall to the poor and perty, Miss Beaufoy was incensed u proud lady, who could not help con- the last degree, and had gone don sidering the activity of the “ new and ordered the instantaneous break. man” as a practical animadversion irg-up of the encampment. The che on his predecessor's inertness, his ge- gipsy demurred to this, pleading hisi nerosity as a satire on her brother's norance of having trespassed at all, i avarice, and his great popularity as asmuch as the avenue had no gate a a posthumous libel on the general cha- lodge, and he had consequently mis racter of the dear but unattractive de. taken the place for an uninhabited ceased. Grace she seemed actually to ruin. Miss Beaufoy replied only by dislike, and spoke of her doings in the reiterating her commands that they parish and among the poor as “ Quix. should at once evacuate her grounds otic Pharisaism," " love of excite- under pain of being forcibly expelled ment,” “ being righteous over-much,” by the parish constables, and even re" fidgety benevolence," &c. Yet, peated her threats close to the sacking strange to say, she constantly inquired and straw on which the sick gipsy lay; after her, and seemed to take a strange to all which the invalid answered not

, pleasure in hearing of, and comment- save with a dull stare from her glass ing on, her conduct. Many of her

eyes. remarks had reached Grace's ears, and Things were in this position, when, only caused a smile; and, in return, next morning, the lad who brought the she had often striven to overcome Miss letters to the vicarage, conveyed also Beaufoy's prejudices, by demonstra- the intelligence that there was fever of tions of respectful kindness; but, un- a bad description among the gipseys happily, they were met with every- and that the village apothecary had thing which was chilly and repulsive.

declared that the sick woman would Frequent offerings of fruit went from die, if not supplied with proper the Vicarage down to Darkbrothers, rishment. Mr. O'Donel was away out and were politely declined. Grace had, pressing business in Scotland, where again and again, offered to drive her he had been placing his little boys at out; but " Miss B. preferred horse school; and Grace, hastily finishing exercise.” The poor lady seemed sour- her breakfast, and making up a based with life, and her temper waxed ketful of wine, and bread, and broth, sterner and more bitter as age came ordered her little carriage, and taking on. It was soon destined to meet a with her a servant, drove down to the heavy trial.

wood of Darkbrothers. The gipseys, whom we left in the The fever was of a malignant nawood, had pitched their camp on a ture, yet the young girl had no fear; common near Darkbrothers' gate, but, on the contrary, her courage and energy allured by the shady temptation of ever seemed to rise, like a sea.bird on boughs and green leaves, the auda- a wave, to meet the opposing dificious nomades had actually entered in culty. through the dilapidated piers, and en- When she reached Darkbrother &

nou.

she lighted down from her phæton, and, advancing among the trees, recognised in the sick gipsy the woman who had spoken to her so unkindly in the wood. She was tended by another dark sister of the tribe, to whom Grace spoke, giving her directions how and in what quantities she should administer the wine, &c., for the patient was rapidly sinking; yet, when she once had tasted the nourishinent, and revived under its power, and Grace had spoken kind, and cheering, and holy words to her, the dull film passed from her dark eye, and there shot a glance from its black orb of such love and such thankfulness, that Grace felt she was richly repaid, by having been enabled to change an enemy into a friend. She now left them to arrange with her father's agent for the reception of the invalid into the county bospital that evening, and then returned home with a bright cheek and a happy bosom.

But on the succeeding morning a much greater trial awaited poor Grace. The old housekeeper at Darkbrothers sent up the following note to the vicarage at breakfast-time :

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“ To Miss O'Donel, — Honoured Miss,_Mistress is very ill, and has passed a hot and restless night. She has frequently asked for Miss O'Donel, and if she would not visit her as she visited the tinker's wife? Whether Mistress was romancing, I cannot say. You, madam, will use your own judgment. Your humble servant,

“Martha Baines."

which lies somewhere in the heart of every true woman, now rose to the surface. Grace spoke to her lovingly and cheerfully.

“ Dear Miss Beaufoy, be of good cheer; please God you will recover. I shall come daily to see you, and this sickness of your's will be the commencement of our true friendship; and when you are getting better, you shall come down to the vicarage for change of air, and we will all take such care of you."

Before she had finished speaking, Miss Beaufoy had fallen off into an uneasy sleep, yet still retaining Grace's little cool hand in her own hot and wrinkled palm ; and when the former essayed gently to detach it, she would wake up, crying

“Oh! do not leave me; will you not stay with me? I shall go mad, if I have not with me some one as good and true as you."

And other phrases of this nature, half wild, half sensible. At last, after Grace had spoken to her many gentle and kind words, she left her tranquillised, and passing with noiseless step along the corridor, she descended the staircase, and impelled by a curiosity she did not seek to conquer, crossed the hall, and passed into the cloisters through a heavy and worm-eaten door. They were damp, and dark, and the flagging much broken up. Grace recognised a bar of rusted iron protruding from the wall, on which it was said that Peter Basset, a Discalced Friar, had hung himself in the olden times, after receiving a public reprimand from the Abbot of the Darkbrothers for insubordination. The spirit of the unhappy suicide was said to walk the cloisters on moonlight nights, and many a peasant in Earlsdale could tes. tify to having heard the tramp of his naked feet on the flags, or seen his burly form and large grey head passing swiftly amidst the ruins. Grace saw only there a living apparition, which was the housekeeper's grandnephew, stretched at full length in the long grass, at the base of “ 'The Black Angel,” with a number of large bluebottle flies promenading up and down his face, a sight which made the young lady smile as she hastened from the place, pondering much in her mind on the causes of Miss Beaufoy's great change of manner to her, and at all

In balf-an-honr after the receipt of tbis, Grace was entering the great door of Darkbrothers. She met the young village doctor in the hall. He told her that Miss Beaufoy was in high fever, and exhorted her to return home at once, and not face the infection. Grace only gently smiled, and speeded lightly up the stairs to the long corridor, where she was met by the house. keeper, and conducted to the bedside of Miss Beaufoy. She was evidently very ill, and delirious; yet she seemed to know Grace, and took her hand, and kissed it, crying—“ Dear young lady."

Grace at once sat down by the bedside, and when she saw this, she wept much. She was very wcak; sick. ness had broken down the stronghold of pride, and the original tenderness,

VOL. XLVI.NO. CCLXXVI.

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events, rejoicing that such was the case. by the fevered bed. She had in apa. But Miss O'Donel would not have been culiar manner the five requisites which so much surprised had she know that, constitute a good nurse, viz., a light fost, even when Miss Beaufoy had found a calm heart, a soft hand, a watchini most fault, there was a substratum of eye, and a cheerful voice, and these approbation in her secret soul, and ad. she brought to bear in the sick chan. miration that one young, and fair, and ber of the solitary lady of Darkbrogifted, should have learned to live so thers, listening to her incoherent ramuch for others, and so little for herself. vings, wiping her clammy lips, smooth, And the original nobility and goodnessing her hot pillow, and at every brief in the poor lady's heart, which had been interval of returning reason giving be: almost crushed out by avarice, pride, comfortable words of simple truth and and the world's disappointments, had love. Generally, at about five o'clock in some occasional better moments each morning, Miss Beaufoy fell into revived, and she bad sympathised, an easy slumber, when Mrs. Baina and even glowed with involuntary relieved Grace in her vigils, the latter pleasure, when surveying Grace's cha- returning on a little mule-car, which racter. She had evidently caught the an old groom of her father's drup fever during her angry descent on the over for her in the grey of the moru. gipseys' camp; and now, though she ing; and thus she had' three or fou had the best physicians the place af- good hours of rest before the family forded, yet they could not procure a met for a late breakfast at the vicar nursetender. In fact, no one would age. come to her; the people disliked her ; On the third night of her attend. they suspected her poverty, shrunk ance, she had gone into Miss Beasfrom her pride, and were fully aware foy's sitting room, which adjoined her of her closeness in money matters: sleeping apartment. The heat was then they dreaded the house and its oppressive, and the loneliness and sibad name; and so, between love of lence of the old desolate house wat gain, personal dislike, and superstition, heavy on her senses. She advanced neither Mrs. Baines or Grace could to the window and threw it up, and procure an attendant who would nurse the ingress of the cool air revived her. the sick lady during the night; and It was a still night; the moon rode the housekeeper, too old and too deaf through a soft and mellow bloe sky, to undertake the office herself, now and rained her silver on the grey ruin, wrote off to her daughter at York, which looked spectral in her white who was a professional nursetender, to light; below her, to the left, and come to Darkbrothers.

wreathed in thickest ivy, lay the clois. Next morning the bulletin at the ters, and presently, as she stood at vícarage was, that Miss Beaufoy had the window, she distinctly heard : passed a night of incessant wandering, sound proceeding from them, as of's ever calling for Miss O'Donel, and heavy foot pacing rapidly along the wondering where she was; and the flags; then a door opened below stairs

, doctor had said, that unless she were somewhere in the old building, and tranquillised the consequences would the same footsteps seemed to pass burbe most critical. It was then that riedly and heavily into the hall, and Grace conceived a plan, which she paused at the foot of the staircase, and was enabled to carry out. Had her fa- ihen died away. A far door clapped, ther been at home, had her mother been shaking the old house, and all was alíve, it is almost certain they would quiet. Grace's heart beat violently not have permitted such an act, but for a few minutes, for the imaginative she merely consulted the impulse, cr faculty was strong in her; but

after 3 rather the principle, of a most generous,

short time she recovered her componoble, and truly Christian mind; and sure, and the same calm fearlessness so she decided to be Miss Beaufoy's which she ever exercised came to her sick-nurse herself, till such time as help, and carefully locking the doors the woman arrived from York, and to of both the sleeping and the sitting take her turn with Mrs. Baines, who apartment, she went lightly back to remained with her mistress most of her post, just as Miss Beaufoy was the morning and the day.

waking up. In two hours the day And so, for six long nights did this began to break, and Mrs. Baines came good, brave, and unselfish girl watch to relieve her. Grace mentioned what

she had heard, but the old lady, who naked foot, steadily and distinctly was matter-of-fact to the last degree, passed along the gallery towards the was incredulous, and shook her head, stairs. Fear mastered her for a moexclaiming

ment; in the next the intrepid heart “Dear Miss, you were dreaming ; of the young girl resumed its accusit was only the rustling of the ivy. I tomed beat, and commending herself have often been told of odd noises to God, she deliberately opened her at Darkbrothers, but I am deaf, and door, and went out on the corridor. never heard them."

Something was passing down the stair. Next night Grace determined to case, and, instigated by a feeling she engage the old groom to sit up below was never able afterwards to explain, stairs during her watch ; but the man, she followed on. She had scarcely though greatly attached to her, grew attained the first landing-place, when perfectly pale at the bare idea. He had the same sounds she had heard on a ventured his neck and life a thousand previous night proceeded from the times over hedge, and stake, and wall, cloisters; it was like the tramp of when he rode to the Earlsdale stag- rụshing feet. The staircase was in hounds as whipper-in; and old as he total darkness - black with shadow i was, he would have fought five men but the ball was bathed in þright together, to pleasure or help his young moonlight from the windoy over the mistress; but to pass a night at Dark door, and along its floor Grace pow brothers by himself, in the neighbour- plainly discerned a figure slowly stalkhood of those fearful cloisters, where ing. The appearance was loosely the friar walks at moonlight-" that's garmented in white; its feet were for sartain," said poor John—the man bare, and a cloth or a cowl hung shrunk from the proposal with such ab. over its left shoulder. It had now solute horror and dismay, that Grace, reached the far end of the hall; a dark half vexed and half amused, forbore moving tide of something appeared to press the matter further. All was, to follow, and to keep rushing about however, quite tranquil that night its feet; when, with a wild gibber, it and the following one; the doctor also flung its cowl down on the ground, expressed his hopes that a favourable and, with a laugh and a spring, vanishcrisis was at hand, and that Miss ed through a side-door, slamming it as Beaufoy's recovery was now a certain it went. As the figure turned round, thing The sixth night set in, and the moonbeams struck full on its face, found the fair young nurse at her and Grace returned swiftly to her post, looking as bright and as fresh as chamber, satisfied that she had not if she had encountered no fatigue at seen the restless ghost of Friar Basset, all. She had enjoyed a long sleep that and sat down composedly to her watch morning, and had afterwards taken a -yes, ber last and most happy watch, brisk ride on a favourite mare over the because crowned with success. For at heathy downs which rose above Brock. about five in the morning, when the holes Park; and so she felt strong and room was all dyed in the first pink of full of hope because her patient's pulse coming day, Miss Beaufoy awoke, and skin had been pronounced better, quite herself—most feeble, but entirely and her mind was beginning to settle ; free from fever. and she had been now from 8 o'clock “Oh my God!" she softly said, “iş in the most profound yet quiet slumber. this Miss O'Donel? Oh, kind young Late in her watch a slight slumber lady, how much I owe you let these had overcome Grace, when the great tears testify.” church clock striking two awoke her. She spoke sobbing; but Grace soothImmediately afterwards she was aware ed her with her low, soft voice; told her that some person had passed up the how happy she had been to nurse her, corridor; there was no mistaking the and then poured forth such a sweet and tread of a man's foot. She listened simple thanksgiving to their heavenly with intense earnestness, till the sound Father as was inexpressibly soothing had died away in the direction of the to the old lady, whose heart was now “Dark Wing," and then the idea of softened with gratitude, and with joy rushing across the corridor and awak- for her safety; and the old housekeeper ing the housekeeper seized her, when coming in, partook of their happiness, again she heard the noise returning, and increased it by sharing it

. and presently the heavy tread as of a The mule-car did not arrive till se

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